Doria is 15 years old and lives in Paradise. Only this is not exactly heaven. It's a housing estate in the Parisian suburb of Livry-Gargan. When her parents arrived there from Morocco in the mid 1980s her mother took one look at their tiny two-room flat and threw up. So much for their aspirations to make a new life as major players in a sophisticated French black and white movie and live the European dream. Instead, in this version, Doria and her mum are just bit-part actors and "our scriptwriter's got no talent. He's never heard of happily ever after."

Doria tells it like it is, from her own unique and acerbic point of view. And it isn't a pretty situation. Her father, aka Mr How-Big-Is-My-Beard, has recently deserted his wife and daughter, returning to Morocco to find a younger spouse to give him the son he so desperately wants. Doria swallows her hurt and disappointment like globs of phlegm then spits back at the world as she describes her life unfolding towards her 16th birthday. Her illiterate mum, Yasmina, is overworked and underpaid at the Formula 1 Motel in Bagnolet. Doria herself is struggling at school and despises the patronising attitude of the various social workers allotted to her "half-family".

This is an existence lived on handouts and credit at the local mini-market, where the only clothes her mum can afford for the teenager are from the charity shop or bargain basement. Not that Doria's life was much more fabulous when her father was around - providing him with a steady supply of beer bottles, guiding him home when he was drunk then disposing of the empties was not exactly a quintessential experience of nurturing parenthood. So much for the model Muslim patriarch. The one guy Doria can turn to for some understanding is a spliff-smoking layabout called Hamoudi, who didn't finish school because he was sent to prison and who recites Rimbaud. Like Doria, he doesn't "rate reality" much. And, although he has bad teeth, at least he doesn't have a pizza face (of acne) like "neeky Nabil", the clever kid with a full family including a nice dad "who never hits him", who comes over to help Doria with her French citizenship course.

This is very much a "year in the life", a mosaic of observations about neighbours, friends, welfare officials, health professionals, the estate, school and the popular influences from TV and music that piece together to create a rich picture of a key year of transition for Doria. There's a wicked wit at play and lots of sharp perceptions. When I started reading I wondered if I would at some point find the full-on force of Doria's voice wearing. It is a testament to both author and translator that Doria not only takes the reader with her, but actually allows them inside her head and into the world she inhabits. What might turn out to be a diatribe with no progression reveals itself instead to be a sly evocation of a reject of a girl growing up, fuming and eye-rolling, into a rather more self-valuing young woman. The Doria at the very start of the book who disparages the stains that look like "dried sick" on test cards of her "old, ugly" psychologist is not quite the same as the one who leaves the last session a year later. She might still regard the psychologist as "old" but she is also able to realise that this moment is like "the first time I rode a bike without stabilisers". The girl kind of comes of age.

Faiza Guene's sassy monologue of a book has been translated from French with streetwise relish by Sarah Adams, who provides a useful glossary of Arabic and slang terms for the uninitiated. After all, this isn't just about the adolescence of Doria, unwanted female. It is also an irreverent evocation of living in an immigrant north African community in Paris viewed from the perspective of a first-generation French girl. What is surprisingly heartening is that Guene, in allowing Doria to vent her resentful opinions on Muslim bigotry, French racism, general misogyny and the inadequacies of the welfare system, also allows her to reveal the invaluable communal support and educational benefits that enable Doria and her mother to climb out of the victim rut. And this is where the worth of this engaging book really lies - in applying a dose of vitality and a strong dash of humour to some very fraught contemporary problems, so injecting some element of hope.